


Translations

by psychobabblers



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of offscreen torture, One sided Amaya/Gren, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:44:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobabblers/pseuds/psychobabblers
Summary: The art of translation is not just to repeat what the person had said. It is to express, to empathize. To help bridge the gap of understanding. Gren will need all these skills when he discovers that though the other prisoner in the dungeon is an elf, they may have more in common than he does with their captor.





	1. Chapter 1

It was a whole day before Gren realized he was not the only prisoner in the strange dungeon where he was being kept. Stone-faced guards came to feed him and allow him to relieve himself twice during that time, but no one ever ventured past the room where Gren was chained. Then, during what Gren thought might be night, he heard a pained sigh, almost like a whisper of wind in the trees. Gren had been in combat by General Amaya’s side for a long time though—his instincts had him straightening up and vainly attempting to reach for a sword that was of course not by his side.

 _Elf_.

“Who’s there?” he called out, deciding that whoever it was, if he hadn’t already killed Gren, was probably a prisoner like himself. And if the other was free and lurking about, then he would be killed when he was discovered anyway. He quashed the niggling thought in the back of his mind that said maybe he was going crazy already from the pain receding into numbness in his wrists and the solitude. Gren was used to being by the general’s side.

There was no response. He sighed, trying not to let the fear well up in him. For Lord Viren to openly defy General Amaya, he must be very sure of his position, but Gren couldn’t lose hope. He was a soldier of Katolis. He would not back down before his enemies, even if the enemy this time was the so-called “Lord Protector” of the realm. It was ironic that he might be on the same side as an elf over what should have been his liege lord. Gren laughed to himself. That was the only treasonous thought he’d ever had.

“My name is Gren,” he found himself saying. It didn’t hurt to talk out loud, if he only talked about things of no consequence. And even if the sigh had been a figment of his imagination, his own voice could give him some comfort.

Gren was so engrossed in detailing his favorite breakfast foods and how to cook them that he was startled when a voice broke into his stream of words. “Do all humans talk this much?”

“No, not really,” he answered. “I’m a translator,” he said when there was no other response forthcoming. “I spend most of my time translating and so I don’t actually get to talk much myself, if you know what I mean. This is the most I’ve talked in _ages_.”

There was a pause while Gren tried to figure out if he was annoying the other prisoner. Maybe the elf had better things to think about than Gren’s ramblings about himself. He didn’t doubt the elf would try to escape if he could. In that case it’d be his duty to keep him distracted. But the elf may have been locked here since the attack on King Harrow. And though this elf might have had a role to play in his death, it wasn’t justice to keep him locked up in the dark without food or water.

“...Tell me more about pancakes.” The words broke into Gren’s uneasy musings and despite himself, he grinned.

“Well, they are my absolute favorite. They’re round and flat and a little sweet. I’m quite good at flipping them, myself. You eat them with maple syrup.”

“Syrup?”

“It’s like…the sweet stuff,” Gren tried. “From special trees. It’s expensive stuff. We don’t grow it ourselves, it comes from up north. That kind of tree likes it very cold.”

“What’s something you like to eat from Xadia?” Gren asked. He wondered if the elf would respond.

“Haven’t you heard the stories, Gren?” came the wry response. “My favorite food is the blood of our enemies.”

That startled a laugh out of Gren.

“Moonberries,” the elf said after the silence had drawn out awhile and Gren had thought to try and sleep. “I miss moonberries.”

“What are they?”

“A common berry that grows in Xadia, much like your blueberries or fizzberries. I like their flavor. Ray—,” the elf cut himself off. “The others called me ‘basic’ for not preferring something more special.”

Gren grinned. “It’s interesting how some of the slang is the same across our borders.”

“Yes.”

Should he tell the elf about the young one they had fought at the Winter Lodge? The elf must think all his team were dead. Would that be considered confidential information? So far Gren had only spoken of food. He tried to imagine what General Amaya would say. The general disliked elves, but she never mistreated any captives they took. What would she do in this situation?

She would have avoided the whole trap completely, Gren concluded glumly. Better not to say anything. There was nothing wrong with offering some comfort to a fellow prisoner, but Gren was still a soldier of Katolis, and elves had murdered his King only days ago.

And Lord Viren hadn’t even waited a day, let alone the traditional seven, before he’d tried to crown himself. General Amaya had never liked the high mage. And given his current predicament, the general had been right all along.

“My name is Runaan.” The elf said suddenly.

“Nice to meet you, Runaan,” Gren said. “Though anything would probably have been better circumstances than this.”

“The only other way would have been on the field of battle,” the elf said.

“Still preferable,” Gren said firmly. “Unlike this Lord Viren, you would make an honorable foe.”

“So honorable as to sneak into a castle to slaughter a child,” came the murmur.

Gren felt a cold chill steal over him at the reminder. The elf didn’t know whether the princes were alive or not, but he almost seemed regretful.

Runaan said nothing else, and eventually Gren fell asleep.

—

Over the next few days, they didn’t speak of that again, though they spoke of other, safer topics. Just a few words here or there. Runaan told him of walking in the moonlight, of baking moonberry pies. Gren spoke of wishing to take a long soak in a bath.

“A bath?”

“You know,” Gren said. “Tub of hot water?”

“Why should I wish to boil myself?”

“To get clean?” Gren said in surprise. “Do elves not bathe?”

“The moonlight cleanses us,” Runaan said. “At least, for us Moonshadow Elves.”

Gren was about to reply when the stone started turning. As usual, Lord Viren didn’t even look at him and immediately disappeared down the dark tunnel that led to where the elf was kept. Gren tried not to listen as the mage interrogated Runaan. Until the tone changed.

“You should be grateful to me, elf. I could have thrown you into the castle dungeons. The guards would not treat you quite so kindly, pretty face like yours. Or maybe you would enjoy it, hm?”

There was a sickening crunch and a scream of pain and rage. Gren stiffened in confusion— that had sounded like the mage, not Runaan.

“You filthy animal,” Viren snarled. There was the sound of blows. Runaan didn’t make a sound. Gren closed his eyes and tried to will him to be strong, even though wishes wouldn’t help the elf now.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of the sound of violent blows, Viren appeared, blood dripping down one of his hands, the other fist clenched. It looked like Runaan had bitten him. He was breathing hard and looked positively insane. Just as before, he ignored Gren and stalked up the stairs. The stone sealed with a resounding clang and there was silence.

“Runaan?” Gren whispered, his heart hammering with fear. There was no response. “Runaan!”

There was a pained sigh. “Leave me be, human.”

Gren ignored the sting of his words, and focused instead on the exhaustion and pain evident in his voice. He had no idea what kind of condition Runaan was in. He could be dying and Gren wouldn’t know. After what had just happened, Gren had made up his mind. He might be a soldier of Katolis, but humans were better than this. Lord Viren was a sick monster. Gren had to get himself and Runaan out before the high mage went completely crazy and killed the elf or worse.

“Hang in there,” Gren said determinedly, not caring if Runaan was ignoring him or not. “Don’t give up yet.” _I’m going to help you escape._


	2. Chapter 2

Gren was dozing when the familiar grinding sound of the door opening woke him up. _Please don’t let it be Lord Viren_ , he thought. He was in luck. Metal boots came into view. Just a guard coming to feed him or allow him to relieve himself. Gren closed his eyes and dropped his weight a little, pretending he was dangling.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” the guard said, sounding bored. Gren heard him step closer. He stayed limp. He only had one chance at this. The guard leaned closer and Gren swung his body up from where he was chained, the adrenaline making it easier to ignore the screaming pain in his wrists, and kicked him soundly in the head. The man toppled like a fallen tree. Gren wiggled one foot out of the boot and carefully picked up the keys from the guard’s belt.

Once he was free—after some very impressive contortions, if he could say so himself—he gingerly picked up one of the magelights from the wall. It seemed to just be a glowing rock—no side effects from touching it.

There was no time for sneaking. If Lord Viren came to check on his prisoner now, all would be lost. Gren sprinted down the dark hallway he had seen the mage stroll down so many times, where Runaan’s voice would drift toward him like a lifeline from insanity.

He skidded to a halt in front of a dead end. _No!_ This had to be the way. There was no other way. Gren forced himself to calm down and think. How was the spiral staircase unlocked? Soren had not blindfolded him when he’d ordered the guards to drag him down here, and Soren had pressed a combination of rocks to get the stone to slide open. Gren presses his palms against the wall and moved them slowly across. His fear made him hyper aware of the roughness beneath his fingers.

There! Were certain patches just a little smoother than the rest?

A deadbolt appeared.

Gren nearly whooped for joy but stopped himself just in time. There would be time for celebrations later if they escaped.

“Runaan?” Gren whispered. “It’s me, Gren. I’m coming inside, alright?”

He cautiously opened the door to pitch darkness, and held up the magelight to try and see where Runaan was. There was a soft groan as Gren swept the light around and Gren gasped as the light fell on Runaan. The elf’s face was turned away a little from the light. In the harsh white light, his mottled bruises stood starkly out against his already pale skin. A thin trickle of blood dropped down the corner of his mouth.

Hastily, Gren moved the light away so he wouldn’t blind Runaan and to see how badly he was injured. The elf was chained to the wall with his arms above his head and his feet chained to the floor such that he was forced to hang his weight on his arms. He was shirtless, and a nasty bruise on his side suggested he might have at least one broken rib. One arm had a patch of discoloration that didn’t look like a bruise. Other cuts and scrapes marred his skin and his wrists were torn up and crusted with dried blood where he had probably struggled against his bonds.

Gren felt anger rise in him.

He moved the light again to try and get a look at how to get Runaan free and Runaan flinched and began to struggle, weakly. He was going to reopen the wounds on his wrists if he continued doing that.

“It’s Gren!” Gren whispered. “Your—your friend!”

Runaan stopped struggling and squinted at him in surprise. “...Gren?”

“I’m going to get you out,” Gren said. “Don’t move around so much, okay? I need to see how to free you from these chains and I don’t want you to injure yourself further.”

Encouragingly, Runaan obeyed. That, or he passed out. It was a little hard to tell. Either way, he didn’t make a sound as Gren inspected his wrists. The manacles were of similar make to his own, and Gren set to work picking the locking mechanism. The guard Gren had knocked out didn’t carry the keys to Runaan’s manacles.

When they unlocked with a soft click, Gren set to work on the ones on his feet. Runaan slumped over with a soft groan.

“Hey, stay with me,” Gren said urgently. “Look, I’m done, you’re free. We have to move. Can you stand?” He put an arm under one of Runaan’s and tried to ignore how the elf instinctively recoiled from his touch. It was alarming how light he was. Gren knew that he had been refusing food and water but it was still hard to see a being who had been a proud warrior diminished like this. Hesitantly, the elf took a step forward. “That’s it, you can lean on me,” Gren said encouragingly.

They made their way slowly across the cell, each step seeming to reinvigorate Runaan a little more. Once out, Runaan let out a shudderingly little sigh, so quiet that Gren wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t practically holding the elf up. He stopped short at the sight of the unconscious guard. “I see you’ve been busy,” Runaan said wryly.

“Yes well,” Gren said, rubbing the back of his head. “Just wait here for a moment while I stash him in the cell.”

He dragged the guard into the cell and swung the door closed, resisting the urge to give the man a vindictive kick. He wasn’t like Lord Viren.

“We’re going to have to just hope for the best when we open this door,” Gren said grimly.

Runaan stared at him. Gren thought he was going to argue but all he said was, “Not much of a plan.”

“Not much of a choice,” Gren shot back. The elf stared at him for a second longer and then nodded slowly.

Runaan had already found a metal scepter-like object to wield. Gren looked around for a weapon of his own. The magelight was helpful, but wouldn’t be useful in a fight for long. Runaan handed him a long knife. “More good in your hands,” he said, expressionless.

Gren opened the door as he had seen Lord Viren do it every time he visited his lair. The staircase ground its way up. There was no one in sight when they peered behind the painting into the study. It seemed Viren didn’t have as many guards that he trusted as Gren had feared. It was just the one guard who always came, and he was stuck in Runaan’s old cell. Claudia and Soren had been sent to chase the princes, so while Gren felt a little guilty at benefiting from a danger to them, a part of him was relieved.

They stepped into the office and looked around warily. Gren felt his stomach twist at the sight of the massive painting of Lord Viren with King Harrow that dominated the room. What would the King say now if he saw his trusted advisor grabbing for power and Commander Gren helping his assassin?

“I felt no joy,” Runaan said quietly. Gren looked up, surprised that Runaan had been watching him. _Only duty_ , he filled in what the elf did not say.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Gren said.

It was evening waning into twilight, which was another stroke of luck, though a cloudy sky broke up what could have been a bright moonlit night.

“Do you have the strength to fade?” Gren asked, thinking of Moonshadow elves and their powers during the moon.

“Not for long,” Runaan admitted.

It was better than nothing. They would just have to make do and hope for the best.

They hurried along the quiet castle corridors, trying to dodge the oddly few patrols around. Gren shook his head, wondering what that meant. Lord Viren had never been strong military-wise. That had fallen to General Amaya and the King, at least to some extent. Perhaps some things were slipping now that the mage had to handle things. “Halt!” Gren froze. “Who goes there? Identify yourself!”

“Millen?” Gren said slowly. Millen was one of the soldiers the general had left at the castle, presumably to help Gren with the search for the lost princes.

“Commander Gren?” the shock in Millen’s was unmistakable. “We were told you had left in the early morning days ago with Lord Soren and Lady Claudia.”

Gren took a deep breath and raised his hands, turning slowly around. He had no idea where Runaan was, but he hoped he’d let him handle Millen. “I’ve been a prisoner of his since General Amaya left. Before she left, she told me Lord Viren was not to be trusted. She was right.”

“A prisoner!” Millen exclaimed. Gren tried not to sigh with uncharacteristic impatience. He was a good soldier, very skilled in combat and loyal to his country, but a little naive still for the intrigues of the court politics. He would not understand Gren freeing Runaan.

“I have to go and warn the general,” Gren said, leaning into his ‘Commander’ tone a little. Millen straightened just a fraction at that.

“Of course,” he said. “Am I to come with you, Sir?”

“Stay here with the rest of the general’s troops,” Gren said. “Don’t do anything rash and definitely don’t trust the mage or anyone from the castle. The general will decide our next move once  she hears of this treachery.”

“Yessir,” Millen saluted, and walked briskly away.

“Efficient,” Runaan murmured next to Gren, and he almost jumped.

They made it to the courtyard with no further incidents, but the bridge was going to be a problem. Runaan was not in any condition to ride, so they couldn’t just make a break for it. In any case the bridge had more guards than usual and the archers might make short work of them. Gren looked around for something that might help them get out unnoticed.

There! The wagons that would be leaving the castle the next morning. There were several full of hay, big enough for two. They climbed into one, Gren helping Runaan, who was swaying on his feet at this point from the effort of staying awake, upright and invisible.

Runaan dropped his invisibility, exhaustion evident in what little Gren could see of him through the hay. Soon he drifted off to sleep. Gren settled into the hay to wait until morning, nerves too on edge to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It was early morning when Gren finally felt the wagon lurch into motion, jolting him out of an uneasy slumber. It slowly rumbled its way across the castle courtyard toward the bridge. Gren tried to relax a little, but tensed when the wagon stopped for the fifth time. What was taking so long? Normally these farmers and merchants couldn’t wait to get on the road. Gren peeked through the hay and realized they were in a line. The guards were doing inspections on everyone leaving the castle. Gren felt despair wash over him. He glanced over at Runaan but the elf was still unconscious, exhausted from the effort of staying invisible during their escape from the cell.

At least the people on the line shared his impatience. Gren could hear grumbling at the delay. For some reason, Lord Viren hadn’t sounded the alarm. Either they hadn’t been discovered and these inspections were routine, or the mage wasn’t sure enough of his position that he could have word spreading of his arresting Gren. He grinned to himself. General Amaya did have a temper sometimes but it mostly came out when she was dealing with fools, because she had very little use for them. In Gren’s experience, good soldiers loved her for it.

The guards seemed to get bored of rifling through every supply wagon that wanted to leave because the pace started picking up. 

“...morning now...Moonshadow...long gone,” Gren heard snatches of conversation. Peeking through the hay revealed a new guard, higher ranked than the ones stopping and inspecting the wagons. The guard he was talking to shrugged. The elves may have assassinated the King but the common guards seemed to be in no hurry to confront an elven warrior. 

“Alright, you can move along,” the guard shouted. The people in line cheered. Soon, the wagon was rolling over the bridge and out onto the road. Gren settled back to rest and think about his decisions over the past day and the uncomfortable novel feeling of having committed an act that was could prove damaging to his kingdom.

He would do it again though, in a heartbeat. Gren had seen a rare lunar leopard once, in a cage when a traveling circus had come to the wall. It had stared at him with the same eyes Runaan had when he’d first opened the dungeon door. The spark of defiance dulled by suffering, but still there. 

Gren had snuck out of the fortress and tailed it the night the circus left, releasing the leopard. It had stared at him solemnly before vanishing into the night. For several nights afterward he had laid awake in bed, agonizing over his decision and whether he’d hear reports of leopard attacks in the area. There weren’t any reports, though once the news broke the General had made a comment about how it was upsetting to see a magnificent animal like that in a cage, but she’d probably have to arrest anyone who was a suspect in releasing or stealing it.

In any case, Gren reflected, he apparently had a knack for getting into situations that required him to break magical beings out of cages. He had scored abnormally high in empathy when taking the military aptitude tests. It was one of the reasons he eventually became the General’s interpreter. 

Thinking of Amaya made him morose again. She’d overlooked the leopard incident but he wasn’t so sure that she’d turn a blind eye to this, or side with him. No matter how much she despised Lord Viren, she hated Elves more. She had spent most of her adult life fighting them, after all. One didn’t rise to command the Standing Battalion without a healthy dose of mistrust of Xadia and all its denizens. She was just and honorable, but Gren couldn’t help wondering if his half-formed plan to bring Runaan to her was a good idea. Not that he had any other option.

They hid in the rumbling wagon for hours as the farmer made his slow way down whatever road he was taking. After Gren deemed enough time had passed, he chanced a look again through the hay. It was early afternoon waning into late, but the farmer seemed to show no sign of stopping or resting his tired oxen. Perhaps they were close enough to home that the farmer simply wanted to push forward, or he didn’t feel comfortable stopping in the thick forest. Either way, Gren didn’t want to wait around for the farmer to notice he’d picked up some hitchhikers.

“Runaan,” Gren murmured. The elf didn’t reply. He reached through the hay until his hand bumped against his arm and almost recoiled. It was ice cold. It was the arm with the odd discoloration. Some sort of curse that Lord Viren had placed on him? They could deal with it later, after they had gotten out of the wagon unnoticed. Gren had no doubt that Lord Viren was still hunting for them. “Runaan,” he repeated.

There was still no response.

Gren swore under his breath. The elf was still unconscious. This was going to be much more difficult. He peeked through the hay again. Rolling out and over the side of the road into the thick brush might work, and they’d just have to hope farmer didn’t hear the thumps—there was no way Gren could make the jump silently carrying a limp Runaan. He was worried about Runaan’s injuries though. If he had a broken rib, being tossed over the side of the road might make him worse. He would have to try and take the brunt of the impact himself, Gren decided.

He pulled Runaan close, trying to ignore the chill emanating from the elf’s body. Tried not to think about whether that was natural or if Runaan was dying. Then he jumped, making sure he hit the ground first and then rolled them quickly over the side into the ferns there. He held his breath as the wagon rolled on.  Gren had just breathed a sigh of relief when it freaked to a stop.

The thud of boots on the dirt road made him tense. 

The footsteps circled to the back of the wagon. There were some shuffling sounds before the footsteps hurried back to the front of the wagon. The wagon rolled off again. Gren guessed the farmer had assumed the sound had come from the forest, and decided to head home quickly rather than deal with any potential problems out in the wild. 

“Gren?” Runaan was awake, but his gaze was unfocused, almost dreamy. He was shivering a little and Gren suddenly realized they hadn’t stopped to get him a shirt or coat. He cursed under his breath. The bruises were darkening rapidly against the elf’s pale skin, and they looked bad. 

There was no way Gren was going to rescue an elf from Lord Viren’s secret dungeon only to have him die because Gren didn’t remember to grab him a shirt.

“Can you walk?” Gren asked.

Runaan didn’t respond, but he did try to stand up. Gren scrambled to his feet to help. The elf felt far too light as he gently hauled him to his feet. 

They walked for awhile, until they were far enough from the road that Gren could relax a little. They sat against a tree to rest and so Gren could strip off his armor. Armor required several layers of clothing under to prevent chafing, and Gren removed the thickest one to give to Runaan. It might prevent him from shaking so much until they could make a proper shelter with a fire. He set out to find one, leaving Runaan mostly camouflaged. 

An hour later he returned having located a small cave and found a clean water source. By the time they reached the cave together, it was already evening. 

Runaan resisted when he tried to help him into the cave. “No,” he murmured. “The moon.”

Gren frowned for a moment and then understood. It was many nights past the full moon, but the moonlight still shone brightly on the ground. He helped Runaan to a bright patch and laid him down. The elf sighed a little as the moonbeams seemed to caress his skin. A tightness Gren hadn’t noticed before in his frame relaxed.

He hadn’t noticed how beautiful Runaan was, the first time he’d seen him chained up in Lord Viren’s dungeon. Even now, bruised and injured, far away from his home and his team defeated, the elf managed to exude an otherworldly grace. Gren felt his mouth go dry and wanted to kick himself a moment later. His reaction was meaningless. Elves were beautiful—even General Amaya could admit that, reluctantly. That didn’t mean he was going to abandon his duty, if only he could figure out what it was. They were safe for now, but what was he to do with Runaan?


End file.
